The Loyal Ones

Ch 19: The Captain

"What're doing? Ta sokv?" asked a miner, watching them.

Sokv sounded like sakv; 'blood' in Corps.

"We need water," Dally said, which wasn't an answer.

"Idiots!"

"Here," Ansel said, with his palm flat on the wall.

There was a second where they considered in silence, then Ansel stepped aside. Their teeth were both sharp enough, but Ansel's were thick as rail spikes with serrated edges. Not good for a neat little bite.

Dally bent to run his fingers along the skin where Ansel was pointing. At first he didn't feel anything, until a deep thump ran through the walls and vibrated along the length of the car. An instant later a pulse swelled the vein under Dally's hand.

As careful as he could, he pinched the car's skin between his teeth, and gnawed until hot, oily blood spilled into his mouth. Dally gagged, flinched, started drinking. The stuff stung on the gums, sour and prickling. He knew it never got better. If he was lucky he wouldn't throw it all up later.

When he'd drunk as much as he could stomach he stood back and clamped a hand on the wound, until Ansel took his place. Then he crept back to his place on the floor, squeezing his eyes shut against a wave of nausea. But his throat didn't ache anymore.

Even if the miners thought they were idiots, they weren't too proud to take advantage. It took probably an hour or two for the whole car to drink from the tiny bite. The last, a young female, had to sit there with her fingers pressed into the hole, waiting for it to stop bleeding.

Red and Nessie had had some too, eventually, and maybe more than they should have. They were curled up around Dally, groaning and whimpering. All of them stuck together with sweat. He pat their backs, mumbling apologies.

Ansel was still upright. "Us tapping the rail-cars is probably why they think we can survive without water," he said, "you know? Why else would they put us in here for three days with nothing."

He was right, damn. Dally couldn't help laughing, doubling up and covering his face.

By sunset the stomach ache faded, and out of everyone only Nessie threw up. The floor started to absorb it right away, though the stink stayed. In the pitch black the miners started singing again, and Red had learned enough of their songs to start as well.

The light overhead glowed and faded one more time, before the brakes started to squeal. All of them fell over each other, with nothing to hold on. When the doors finally opened they were lying in tangled piles of limbs.

Although it wasn't actually cold, everyone shuddered at the same time in the fresh breeze. They squinted into the daylight, and tried to shake numb arms and legs awake.

There were four men outside the car, peering in at them. All of them were red-eyed and unshaved, but they wore the field version of the Savic Infantry Corps officer's uniform; dull olive with gold bars and pips. Dally had only ever seen it in posters.

One of them was a captain, he figured. At least, there was more bars on his shoulders. The man's dark tan skin sagged around the eyes and mouth, though Dally didn't know if it was age or hard living. He looked fifty, compared to the rumpled group of young men around him.

"This is it?" The officer had Gita's smooth Northern aristocratic accent, but no House jewellery. Just a heavy gold chain around his neck, and a ruby stud in his ear. For a second he took a pull on a thin cigarette, squinting into the dark.

His eyes passed disinterested over the sweaty bodies of the miners, slowing a little on Dally and the others. "They look weak," he said. "How many?"